


Sketch

by shinychimera



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-26
Updated: 2011-06-26
Packaged: 2017-10-20 17:58:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/215573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinychimera/pseuds/shinychimera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kirk's first night back on Earth after fighting the <i>Narada</i>; a word sketch inspired by the accompanying photo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sketch

Bones, suddenly agoraphobic like half the rest of the crew, opted to stay in the campus cocoon, but Jim had to get out of his uniform, out of the death-scoured dorm, out of the Academy before he suffocated on respectful voices.

He found the right bar, gleaming cherrywood and brass where it wasn't fading to black, full of cheerful chaos and loud music from another age. A place where no one said the name "Jim Kirk" (or worse "Captain Kirk") above a murmur, even if it did seem no one would take his money when the comfort of the familiar ran dry and it finally came time to pay up.

[](http://s4.photobucket.com/albums/y135/shinychimera/Star_Trek/Fic%20Illustrations/?action=view&current=chrishand.jpg)He found the right footpath, leading him away from the fucking Golden Gate that loomed tall over every view and small off of every tourist trinket — the bridge that was still intact and still reminding him of everything that wasn't. Up and down San Francisco hills from one dark leafy park to another, he followed the path until his calves burned and his lungs filled under a strangely empty city sky, only the brightest stars sticking by his side. He reached the Embarcadero at just the right time to watch the sunrise burnish the bay.

But hollow disregard led him to the wrong café, a whispering melange of nice shoes and pointing fingers and comms whipped out when his back was turned, and it took less than five minutes for the first news camera to arrive.

He leaned on his fist as if a green-bordered menu could explain knots of time and tragedy, hoping his fugitive, futile feelings didn't show in bloodshot eyes or the hunch of his shoulders. He glanced up only once, catching sight of the lens between his screening fingers.

He smiled, because he had no other choice, and his smile carried messages, because he couldn't help that either.

His eyes said:  
 _Yes, dear readers of the gossip streams, Captain Jim Fucking Kirk is a disappointing human being wearing a fresh denim hangover. Why do you care? Why do you care more about_ that _than the planet that died?_

And his teeth said:  
 _Are you still there, you camera-faced shithead? Yes, you are, asswipe, you caught me looking, yes, you win one bright shiny smile and this finger right here. No, just the one, fuckhole, just for you._

And the tight, taut tendons in the back of his hand said:  
 _Hi, Bones, I made the morning news just like you said. I hope you enjoyed your darkness and silence alone, you were absolutely fucking right, and I had to do it anyway._


End file.
